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imaginepirates · 4 years

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Modern! Beckett

Alrighty, so I know these were requested forever ago (sorry, fml) but here you are with another modern au setting in which Beckett is plunged into today’s world. You live on a peaceful vineyard, so if you need something aesthetically pleasing rn, this is it.

@fablelady @kay-maybe @panagiasikelia

~3200 words

~~~~~~~

Something had gone horribly wrong with the food. Some sort of toxin had made its way into your body. It had to have. Otherwise, you wouldn't be seeing a man standing in your vineyard, wearing an embroidered waistcoat, looking completely and utterly lost.

You'd been walking barefoot through the rows of vines after breakfast, letting your toes curl against the earth. It was a pleasant sensation. A light breeze tugged at your loose hair, and the morning sun warmed your arms and back. Ripe grapes hung from the vineyard’s vines, purplish blue, ready to be harvested and sold to the nearby winery. You looked up, gazing over the endless rows of green and out to the golden fields beyond. Even further was the shimmering lake, the morning sun dappling across its surface, vast and blue and ending hazily at the mountainous opposite shore.

You wandered aimlessly, with no goal in mind, just looking out over the vast stretches of empty land. There was another vineyard in the distance, much the same as yours, and a small road interrupted the natural beauty, but there was little else around. A small city sat beyond the crest of a far off hill. You couldn’t see it from where you lived, but you drove in to get groceries and anything else you needed.

It was as you walked that you found yourself face to face with a small man who had somehow made his way deep within your vineyard. He stared at you with wide eyes and a perplexed expression, and you stared back, equally surprised.

It took a few moments to even comprehend the idea of someone ending up on your property. The section of vines you were in was far from the road, and you likely would have noticed someone coming from the road in any case. He didn’t really look like he’d walked a long way; there was none of the thin layer of dust that a person accumulated while walking long distances. You had no idea where he could have possibly come from.

The second thing that you noticed about the stranger was his manner of dress. A pale blue embroidered waistcoat, breaches, and strange heeled shoes were hardly the normal manner of dress. Not to mention the wig.

It took you another instant to realize that you recognized the man. Which means I must be dreaming, or I must be crazy. He bared an uncanny resemblance to a character from one of your favorite movies. There’s no way this could possibly be him. Lord Cutler Beckett, in my yard.

You must have been staring at him for an uncomfortable amount of time, as he cleared his throat.

You had a hard time forcing words out of your mouth. “Oh,” was all you could manage at first. Then, “Any idea how you got here?”

The man had the decency to look embarrassed. “No, I’m afraid.” He fidgeted with the hem of his loose white shirt. “Where am I, exactly?”

“In the middle of my vineyard, actually.”

“Ah. And that is?”

“A ways from wherever you come from, I think.”

He seemed to agree, assessing your clothes and the area around him.

“Would you like to come inside? We might be able to figure things out better.”

“Thank you.”

You walked back between the rows of grapevines, much more quickly than your earlier aimless meandering. The house was just ahead, a red roof against sandy walls. Cypress trees stood, lining the gravel driveway, at the front of the house. Beckett didn’t seem phased in the least by the outside appearance; you were sure he’d seen things like it before. It was old-fashioned, if not truly that old, in the style of Tuscan vineyards.

Beckett got a shock upon seeing the inside of the house, though. You led him up the stairs to your back porch and through the double doors at the back of the house. If the porch a story off the ground didn’t seem strange enough to him, the modern furniture, lights, decor, and appliances shocked him. You could hear him gasp a little behind you as he entered the house.

You entered into the kitchen. It was a large, open space connected to your living room. Bar seating separated the two spaces. “Water?” You asked. “I know it can get hot out there.”

“Hm? Oh, yes, please.” Somehow, he still managed to keep his manners.

You pulled a glass from the cupboard of the kitchen, filling it with water from the refrigerator. You looked back at Beckett, who stared on quizzically with his mouth slightly open. When you gave him the glass, he eyed it suspiciously before drinking.

“Perhaps ‘where’ am I wasn’t the right question,” he murmured. He drank slowly, eyeing everything around him. You were half tempted to turn on the TV, just to give him a start, but you decided against it.

“I think you’re going to find that everything is different around here. It might take some getting used to.” That was an understatement and you knew it.

“Ah.” He continued to stare. Finally, his eyes snapped back into focus and he looked at you. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to play the part of the host?”

“I have plenty of room.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You live here alone?” “Not anymore, it seems, though I might like to know the name of my guest.” You gave him a smile, and he tentatively smiled back.

“Beckett. Cutler Beckett.” It was your turn to be dazed. “Thank you. I’d rather not make myself more lost by trying to find somewhere else to stay.”

“I understand.” Huh. Cutler Beckett. Right in my kitchen.

You showed him to a guest room. It was fairly minimal, and the decorations were sparse. The room had been painted an ivory color, and you’d complimented it with pale blue decorations. The curtains sported flowering shapes in both colors, whereas the bedspread was slightly patterned in varying shades of blue. An ovular mirror stood to one side of the room. It was charming, in its own way, though you were sure Beckett was used to more lavish accommodations.

He, for his part, didn’t seem to mind. He tapped the bed absentmindedly with a hand, looking around. He furrowed his brows, looking at the nightstand with its lamp. “What’s this?”

“A lamp. It’s a light that you can control from next to your bed.” You then proceeded to show him the lightswitch.

He stared, bewitched. “How does it work?”

“I’m…. not completely sure. It’s so common, I don’t really think about that. I know that it’s a complicated mess of wires, though.”

He continued to stare at the switch. As you left the room, you heard him give it a few experimental clicks. You smiled. It was sort of adorable, the way he was enchanted with everything. Much different from the man from the story. Softer. More human.

“Are you hungry?” You asked. It was getting on towards midday, and you found the idea of lunch to be appealing.

“The thought of food tempts me, I will admit.”

“It’s decided, then. Perhaps we’ll make it a picnic.” You busied yourself in the kitchen, pulling out meats, cheeses, fruits, nuts, and crackers. Snacky foods, but delicious when combined, and perfectly filling.

Beckett seemed a little dubious at the idea of eating outside, but you assured him that he wouldn’t get dirty, nor would he have trouble with bugs.

“And the heat?” he asked.

“Firstly, you can lose the waistcoat. And the wig. They won’t do you any favors. Secondly,” you snatched a floppy sun hat from a peg on the wall, “I have two.”

You might have considered getting him different clothes if you’d been worried about someone seeing you, but you weren’t, so you didn’t bother. You instead put the large sun hat on his now bare head, the hat clashing horribly with everything else.

You put yours firmly in place, picked up the basket in which you’d put your food, and strolled out the back door. Beckett followed right behind you, staring out at everything he could see. “It feels like Greece,” he said, “or Italy.”

“Thank you. I try to keep that feeling, actually.”

“You’re doing beautifully.”

The words took you aback. You could see that he was perfectly serious, but you hadn’t expected such a compliment from him. You’d hardly expected him to say anything nice at all. The story didn’t do him justice, then. You’d always expected him to be a bit of an ass. You supposed he still had the chance, but he’d been nothing but the picture of polite company, if not massively confused polite company.

You walked him down a winding path through the golden fields surrounding the vineyard. It trailed down to the shore of the lake, whose deep blue waters stretched out to a hazy horizon. Mountains rose up far beyond, too far away to see clearly, barely standing out against the sky. A small boat sat on the beach there, on your side, and you had a mind to row it a ways down the bank.

You pushed off from the bank, peacefully rowing through the serene waters. Few boats used the lake, making it ideally scenic. You would have hated for the lake to be crowded. More urban areas got choked with tourists during the summer, but you were far enough away from any big cities that it wasn’t a problem. Besides, the nearest town didn’t have major hotels.

You rowed along, Beckett sitting opposite you in the little boat. He seemed to be enjoying himself, looking out over the scenery. The tension had left his shoulders. He seemed almost peaceful this way, staring out at the hazy mountains, looking over the golden fields and banks of trees.

You arrived at a flat, grassy area shaded by trees. The two of you got out and sat beside the lake, shielded from the blistering sun. You unpacked the basket you’d brought with you. You and Beckett sat in companionable silence, enjoying the meal, enjoying a slight breeze. Beckett looked ridiculous in the sun hat. It seemed too big on him, somehow, and it made him look much less threatening than you were used to his being. Meeting him in person had been a lot different than how he was portrayed, you reflected.

“It’s wonderful here. Much more peaceful than home,” he said. His expression changed when he spoke of his home, like he’d tasted something sour. “I do wonder what’s going on. And how I’m supposed to get back. If I’m supposed to get back. It’s a rather terrifying thought, that I might never go home.” By the look on his face, the thought was just now occurring to him.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to get you home.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know how I ended up here in the first place. It seems rather like a dream, though I can say with confidence that it isn’t.”

“You had to get here somehow. I don’t think you’re meant to stay here forever.”

He looked out over the lake. “Things are such a mess there, the idea of staying here isn’t so awful, actually.”

“Maybe you just needed time away.”

“I doubt the world would be so kind.”

You steered away from the subject, and the two of you ended up talking about the vineyard. He knew more about viniculture than you might have guessed.

“It really does take me back to some of my lessons in school,” he said. “They had pictures of the Italian countryside in some of my books. It was much like this, though I don’t remember any lakes.”

You smiled. “It’s one of my favorite places. Too many methods of production have taken on more modern approaches; the massive farms growing wheat, or the rows upon rows of corn, interrupted only by giant sprinklers and massive tractors. I like keeping things small. It’s so much more peaceful than those unnerving monocultures.”

“I always wanted to go. To Greece, or Italy, I mean. I loved all the stories, all the history. I wanted to experience it for myself.”

“Never got to go?”

“No. My travels took me elsewhere. Africa, China, India, the New World. I always told myself that I’d make time for it later.”

“Surely the places you did go to proved to be interesting.”

“Very. The cultures of those places were foreign to me; lord knows they weren’t part my education. I found them fascinating. Tell me, have the American colonies expanded? I’m sure they’d have had to, by now.”

“Well, yes.” You didn’t think he’d like where this was going.

Something in your expression must have tipped Beckett off. “They are still under the control of the British?”

“No.”

“The Spanish? God forbid, don’t tell me the French got control. I can’t imagine those frogs doing anything good with the land.”

“Actually, the colonies had a revolution and became their own country.”

“Ah,” he said. “I suppose that’s wont to happen sometimes.”

“Yes, yes it is.” You thought of all the other countries that had broken away from Britain, too.

You packed up, stepping back into the boat. This time, you drifted out towards the center of the lake. “Did you spend much time at sea?” you asked. “You did seem to travel a lot.” You didn’t want to make it look like you knew too much about him, even though you did.

“I spent a fare amount of time at sea, yes, though I typically settled down once I got somewhere.” He let his hand skim the top of the water. “The sea is much different from a lake, though. Calmer.”

You were out on the lake until dusk, talking about this and that; the places you’d been and the things you’d seen, all the questions Beckett had for you about modern technology and travel, and a hundred other things. You figured it was the most relaxed Becektt had ever been. He even laughed from time to time at your jokes. How strange it is, to see him like this. I think he’s growing on me.

You seemed to be growing on him, too. “You’re very easy to get along with, you know that? I haven’t just sat and talked with someone in ages. At least, not without wanting to get something from them.”

“Is there nothing you want to get from me?” you asked innocently.

Beckett looked at you, surprised. A slight blush dusted his features. Then he smiled, a little wickedly, and raised an eyebrow. “Was that flirting?”

It was your turn to blush. “Perhaps a little.”

“Just know that it can go both ways.” A smug look crossed his face as you blushed deeper. “Although I have to admit, I’m rather out of practice. It’s been a long time since anyone’s flirted with me.”

“I can’t see why. You’re such a charming man.”

“Am I? I rather think that my good attitude has everything to do with my company, and nothing to do with my charm.”

You rolled your eyes, rowing back to shore. By the time you got back to the house, it was time for dinner, and you coerced Beckett into helping you make it. He had little idea what he was doing, but managed not to make a complete mess with any of his tasks. It’s cute, you thought, to watch him try doing domestic things.

The two of you enjoyed a pasta dish with chicken and tomatoes, fresh basil and olive oil drizzled over the top. You had an assortment of fruits to enjoy, too. You plucked a pomegranate from the mix.

Beckett eyed you. “I suppose you know the story of Hades and Persephone?”

“I do. How Hades fell in love with Persephone, kidnapped her, and tricked her into eating seeds from the fruit of the underworld. She had to return to him, then, and spend half of each year with him.”

“A man from another world, falling for a goddess of vegetation.” Beckett’s eyes focused on the pomegranate. “Sometimes, mythology is unbelievable. Sometimes, it isn’t.”

You cut the fruit, taking out a large spoonful of the burgundy seeds and eating them. “I like the version where Persephone knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Beckett watched you, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“It’s a little wicked, I must confess. The thought that she was no innocent victim, but a wholly conscious decider of her fate. Perhaps not all women want to pick flowers all day. Some of us might like a taste of power, of having men fear our names.”

“And would you have me fear yours?” He arched a brow. You laughed. “No, no.”

“Would you rather me kidnap you, then?” He didn’t give you time to answer, instead pulling you out of your seat to be flush against him. “Tell me, do you dance?”

“Does the Macarena count?” He gave you a questioning look. “Nevermind,” you said. “The answer is no.”

“Shame. Looks like you need a teacher.” He smirked. “It might be a little hard without music, though.”

“What song?” Beckett looked confused. “Can you get any waltzes?”

“Alexa,” you turned your head towards the small device sitting on your counter. “Play the Second Waltz.” You turned back to Beckett. “It’s a bit more contemporary, but I trust you’ll know how to dace to it.”

The tune, familiar to you, at least, began. Beckett put a hand on your waist and took one of your hands with the other. Your free hand floated just above his shoulder, where you assumed it was supposed to go.

“Don’t be shy,” he urged.

The moment your hand came to rest on his shoulder, he took a step forward, forcing you to step back. He guided you to one side, then forward, and again to the other side. Your movements were clumsy, but you began to get the hang of it as he repeated the steps.

“Not so hard, see?”

You smiled shyly, aware of just how close the two of you were.

“Blushing already?” he teased. He suddenly pulled you flush against his chest. “And to think I hadn’t even given you anything to blush about.”

“You’re cheeky, aren’t you?” You barely managed to get the words out through your embarrassment.

“Perhaps. Though I’m sure I can make you blush harder if I try.”

“Is that a promise?”

Beckett laughed. “You’re not so bad at this yourself, you know. But if I must…” The hand on your waist took a firmer grip, while the one holding yours came to rest on your cheek. His thumb grazed over your lower lip. Softly, he planted a kiss to your lips, staying close even after it was finished. “Perhaps staying here forever isn’t such a bad thought after all,” he whispered. He stepped back. “Though I suppose I have to find a way back at some point.”

“We will,” you said, still a little dizzy from the kiss.

“Together?”

“Together.”

~~~~~~~

If anyone was wondering about the song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPG_WUgHbis

#potc #pirates #pirates of the caribbean #becket #lord beckett #cutler beckett #request #modern au #modern #au #drabble #drabbles #writing #fanfic #potc fanfic

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